


Ground Me

by Tahlruil



Series: Winding Roads to Flowering Fields [3]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, He Plays Them Anyway, How Do I Tag, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, M/M, Panic Attacks, Peter Hale is Bad at Video Games, Peter is Stiles' Anchor, Peter loves Stiles, Post-Nogitsune Stiles Stilinski, Pre-Slash, Scott McCall is a Bad Alpha, Scott is a Bad Friend, Stiles Has Nightmares, Stiles Has Panic Attacks, Stiles is Peter's Anchor, Stiles is Peter's Pack, Stiles is Pushed Out of the Pack, Stiles-centric, self-soothing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-28
Updated: 2017-11-28
Packaged: 2019-02-08 00:16:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,635
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12852600
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tahlruil/pseuds/Tahlruil
Summary: "...this is not 'guard duty', you idiot. This is pack - the way pack is supposed to be." Stiles probably should have been freaked out or maybe turned on by the way Peter pressed his nose to the crook of Stiles' neck and breathed in deep. Hedefinitelyshould have felt one of those things when Peter dragged his cheek upward and then skimmed it over Stiles' jaw. He didn't though, not with what he knew about werewolves; all he felt when his wolf scented him was a sense of comfort, belonging andhome. "And you don't take 'nights off' when it comes to being pack."





	Ground Me

**Author's Note:**

> Two things. XD
> 
> I was not supposed to write this. I was supposed to finish a chapter in another fic, then go to sleep. But for some reason, at one in the morning my brain was like 'Hey, remember werewolves in the Sims 3 Supernatural Pack? Because they bear a striking resemblance to the way Teen Wolf does werewolves'. So then I had to write about these two dorks playing the Sims, but I couldn't just leave it there, so I stayed up all night doing this. It probably sucks. XD Sorry?
> 
> Also. I have started Season 4 at long last, I'm like four episodes in, and it's already _such bullshit_. Like, it makes me angry. I was going to try and at least sort of follow canon, but now fuck that because omfg. I can't even. So while I will likely (slowly) rage-watch the rest of the show, I probably am not gonna be putting many more canon events into the series unless things drastically improve. Sorry, not sorry.
> 
> If I missed any tags, please let me know! I'm awful at tagging, and I both acknowledge and accept that.
> 
> Leave me some comments maybe? :D

Peter was surprisingly terrible at Call of Duty. Ridiculously, astonishingly, _hilariously_ awful, and Stiles really hoped it wasn't just an act to make him feel better. Because yeah, it was totally working but he _needed_ his wolf to be this bad at video games. All those reflexes, muscles and fancy shifting capabilities didn't mean shit when it came to shooting fake bullets at pixel men, apparently, and it was awesome. Stiles had started Peter on COD because he'd figured it would be the easiest game for him to master. He'd really thought the werewolf reflexes would help, but he'd just... he'd been so wrong and it was just the best.

He was totally going to make Peter play the Dark Souls games so he could watch and laugh his ass off.

Stiles' favorite part of the afternoon he'd spent kicking Peter's ass while his wolf growled and flashed blue eyes at him was that Peter had _totally done it_. Stiles had said 'play video games with me' and Peter (who'd probably only ever played like, Pong or something before) had just... just agreed and plopped down on the couch. Well, 'plopped' was an overstatement of casualness, because his wolf didn't have that in him. He'd sat down with all the dignity and grace of a fucking king before a peasant, then sprawled in a way that was stupid attractive and would have been enough to get him sorta horny before his life had gone to shit.

The point was that Peter fucking Hale did not have to be there, sitting on his raggedy couch and playing a game that he clearly didn't enjoy very much. He was only doing it because it made Stiles... not happy, exactly. But it got his brain to shut up about all the ways he'd completely destroyed the lives of all his friends, gotten one of them killed and caused the deaths of a whole bunch of other people, so he'd take it. Stiles was so totally on board with distracting his brain, especially when he got to do it by shooting Peter's character over and over in increasingly ridiculous ways.

Peter's eyes had been blue for the last forty minutes straight, and Stiles was ready to swear that his face was getting a little furrier and that his ears now had just a hint of a point. He didn't say anything though, because he was afraid Peter would remember that he had better places to be - anywhere that wasn't with Stiles would probably be better - and leave. And if Peter left, maybe he wouldn't be back. Maybe Peter would decide that he'd babied Stiles enough and leave him to manage the mess that was his life alone.

Because yeah, Peter called him 'pack', but so did Scott and it wasn't like his best friend was knocking down his front door so they could hang out.

"Stiles?"

"Yeeeessssssss?" he asked leaning to the left as he got into position, pretty sure if he timed everything right he could get Peter's character right in the nuts with his knife.

"Is this the only game in your possession, or could we possibly try something else?" Stiles blinked and looked over at his wolf, who had developed a pretty pronounced twitch in his left eye. "Perhaps something a little less... stimulating? I'd hate to be responsible for the death of this... charming controller."

"What exactly is wrong with my controller?"

"I find this shade of pink offensive."

"Well I find your _face_ offensive," Stiles muttered in return, a grin twitching to life on his lips when Peter growled but didn't get up and walk away. "And yeah, okay. We can play something else. Or I guess I could just play something and you could keep me company. Not that you have to, because I am fully capable of being by myself and just because my dad said that you're allowed here doesn't mean you need to like, set up camp or whatever. Hey, I bet you have like, piles of gold hidden away somewhere because all good villains do, so you should totally exchange some of it for US dollars and get us a Wii to play with. That'd be more your speed." Stiles exited the game while he talked, part of him busy trying to figure out what he could play instead.

"I'll be sure to get right on using my vast fortune of doubloons to fund your video game addiction," Peter said, voice drier than his dad's attempts at cooking chicken. He was kidding - probably, maybe - and also being an ass so Stiles knocked into him with his shoulder. Peter barely moved because he was a brick wall, and if Stiles sort of stayed pressed against Peter's side that was just because his wolf was comfortable and smelled nice. Peter obliged him, setting down the controller and shifting until he could drape one arm around Stiles' shoulders. "Why don't you pick something to play? I'll keep you company _and_ provide colorful commentary."

"I guess that wouldn't be awful. Are you staying for dinner? Dad's supposed to be home in time, but who knows for sure." Stiles was striving for casual - it felt like he was always trying so damned hard these days to be something even close to normal. He wasn't sure he hit the mark though, both because he wasn't as good at lying when it came to Peter and because the thought of being alone at a silent table with a plate of food he wouldn't be able to force himself to eat was mildly terrifying. He licked his lips and shrugged, refusing to look up at Peter in case his face gave him away. "But you don't have to stay either way. And if you wanted to take a night off from guard duty altogether that'd be cool too. So cool. Did you know that glaciers have to be as big as nineteen football fields before they can be called glaciers? Seems like that's excessively big - i mean, come on, fourteen football fields worth of slow moving ice is totally cool enough to be called a glacier."

"I can stay for dinner, sweetheart."

"Yeah? I mean. Okay. If you want." Stiles shrugged as he navigated through his fairly impressive collection of downloaded games, not even sure what he wanted to use as a distraction. Really, if he just closed his eyes long enough he could just fall asleep there on the couch, curled up against Peter... but then there was no way he'd sleep once he went to bed. He had to stay awake, and not just because he still didn't trust himself when his eyes were closed longer than a few minutes.

"I do want. Also, this is not 'guard duty', you idiot. This is pack - the way pack is supposed to be." Stiles probably should have been freaked out or maybe turned on by the way Peter pressed his nose to the crook of Stiles' neck and breathed in deep. He _definitely_ should have felt one of those things when Peter dragged his cheek upward and then skimmed it over Stiles' jaw. He didn't though, not with what he knew about werewolves; all he felt when his wolf scented him was a sense of comfort, belonging and _home_. "And you don't take 'nights off' when it comes to being pack."

"I just thought maybe you'd want some time to yourself, maybe to plot some fun murder sprees or something. You're only here because I... because you think I need you or whatever--"

"Did you ever stop to think that I might need this as much as you?"

"No?"

"Well I do," Peter told him, sounding irritated. "So stop trying to talk me out of it or I'll have to do something to make you regret it. Something evil. Blood vengeance-y even."

"Oh please. The most 'evil' thing you've done lately is eat the last of my Cool Ranch Doritos - yeah, I know that was you. Like, the one snack that still tastes good and you ate 'em all. Ate 'em right up. Hope they tasted good enough to make the evil act worthwhile."

"They were disgusting," Peter said with a shudder that was purely for effect because Cool Ranch Doritos were the bomb. "I only ate them to keep them away from your father. I was _helping_ Stiles, not being evil."

"Yeah. Uh-huh. Sure. Okay."

"I'm getting the sense that you don't believe me."

"Really? Huh. Imagine that."

"You wound me."

"Whatever." Stiles finally settled on The Sims 3 - he had the supernatural pack and he was _totally_ making a Peter Hale werewolf along with a version of himself as a roomie. He didn't tell his wolf the plan, because that would have ruined all the fun. Plus he was pretty sure he'd felt Peter scoff when he caught sight of the title, so the ass didn't deserve even a little bit of warning. Just to try and keep things on the DL for as long as possible, he started with the version of himself; Peter immediately jumped in to 'help'.

"I'm not sure this game has enough plaid clothing - whatever will you wear instead?"

"Is there a 'Steals All the Covers' trait? No? Pity - he'll never be realistic then."

Those kinds of comments Stiles had expected. He just rolled his eyes, bit back a grin at what Peter would say when Stiles started on his werewolf roommate, and kept tweaking Sim Stiles. Then Peter flipped the script a little, which maybe threw him off. "The hair should be a little longer," he'd murmured, running his fingers through Stiles' hair - it shouldn't have felt as good as it did. "I don't like that he can't have all your beauty marks," he'd added, sounding like he was downright sulking. When Peter's fingertips lightly brushed over a few of said marks, he shivered and quickly made a last few adjustments. "Are you making the Sheriff now?" he asked when Stiles moved to add a Sim.

"Nope," he said, popping the 'p' just because he knew that Peter hated when he did. "Sim Stiles is a young adult, zombie-wolf. I like to think that he's at a place in his life where he doesn't live with his old man. Does have a roomie though."

"Scott?" The name was part growl, part sneering disdain... and Stiles briefly wondered why the idea of making Scott instead of Peter felt viscerally _wrong_. He wondered why he'd never even thought to make a Sim Scott werewolf until Peter mentioned it. He didn't really why he'd already internally committed 100% full-stop to the idea of never making Sim Scott, except that it would make his wolf unhappy if he did. That right there _meant_ something... but Stiles decided he wasn't ready to unpack it yet.

"Dude. No."

"Don't call me--"

"How the hell is Sim Stiles supposed to sleep without a creeper-wolf to keep him company? I'm just mad I can't make a zombie one, because that would have been perfect. It's just really disappointing. But! I can totally give Sim Peter the 'Leader of the Pack' ambition, which will-ah!" Stiles yelped when Peter tackled him to the couch, face pressed to Stiles' throat and the happy rumble that helped keep Stiles calm at night vibrating in his chest. "Not gonna lie - kinda thought your reaction would be funnier and less cuddle-y, but I can work with it. Hey! No pinching," he scolded, flinching away from the offending fingers that had attacked his side. "Jeeze."

"I'm evil - I can pinch whenever and whoever I like."

"I'd be more likely to buy that whole evil thing if you weren't like, purring right now dude."

"That's very stereotypical, Stiles, assuming evil beings can't purr. I'm disappointed in your lack of imagination." Stiles huffed out a laugh while Peter - who'd ended up on top of him - lifted himself up just far enough that he could look down into Stiles' eyes. He knew what the color meant, but every time Peter's eyes glowed blue the way they were doing just then, all he could think was how pretty they were. "Can humans be pack members in your little game?"

"No. EA isn't really up on werewolf politics and the subtle nuances. Or if they are they're keeping pretty hush-hush about it, which I think would not be a thing they'd do. Actual werewolves doing ads for the Supernatural pack would have boosted sales by an unbelievable amount. Except they do kinda look the way you all do when you wolf-out, so maybe somebody is in the know. But yeah. Sim Stiles can't be in Sim Peter's pack unless he turns into a werewolf."

"So Sim Peter," God, what a fucking surreal moment it was to hear those words out of Peter's mouth. "Could he turn Sim Stiles?" There was more to the question than what was on the surface; the way Peter was searching his eyes was too intent and intense for there not to be. "If he wants Sim Stiles in his pack I mean. Could he give him the bite?"

"... yeah," Stiles said, not entirely sure why his cheeks were turning warm. "If their relationship is strong enough, Sim Peter can offer to bite Sim Stiles. But if they, uh, fall in love Sim Stiles could also ask Sim Peter to give up his powers. Not that he would!" he hurried to add when Peter's brow rose. "I gave him the 'Supernatural Fan' trait, so he's gonna be so cool with the fact that Sim Peter is a werewolf. Uh, can I maybe... I wanna finish Sim Peter and..."

Peter didn't move for a few more seconds, and Stiles didn't even try to make him - such an attempt would be doomed to failure. Finally though, his wolf moved back to his previous spot on the couch, pulling Stiles along with him. The way Stiles ended up half in in his lap had probably been totally intentional, but it was fine. Pack cuddles were awesome, and Peter had never once tried to for anything more than that.

"I get to pick out his clothes. You have terrible... I honestly can't even bring myself to call it fashion sense. You're not dressing Sim Peter."

"I've got the controls, zombie-wolf. Sim Peter's wardrobe is in my hands, and you'll just have t-- hey! Give it back!"

The playful struggled over the controller was brief, and once it was over Stiles helped Peter create the Sim version of himself. His wolf seemed way more interested in the Sims than he had been in COD. Stiles thought it was probably because he got to play God. Whatever the reason, he was happy to let Peter keep playing even after they were out of the creation screen. He wasn't surprised when Peter got himself a job right away, because his wolf was grumbling about how little money their household had from the get-go. He was less impressed when he had Sim Stiles stay home all day instead of getting him a job too.

"C'mon, I'm not that much of a mooch!"

"Of course not. But it's better for Sim Peter to start providing while Sim Stiles builds up his skills. That way he can do anything he wants later. Until he's ready for that, Sim Peter can take care of him."

"That's both kinda creepy and a little sweet. How do you even do that?"

"It's a gift."

"Whatever. Give Sim Stiles mad chess skills, please."

Stiles knew it wasn't a good idea to stay cuddled up to Peter without anything to occupy his hands. Not at home on the couch, not when his head was so blissfully calm. But his wolf was enjoying himself, so Stiles didn't want to interrupt him and Stiles _definitely_ didn't want to peel himself away from Peter's side either. While Peter worked to build a life for their Sim-selves, Stiles began to drift off, surrounded by the warm, safe feeling that he'd come to associate with Peter and pack. "Wake me up for dinner," he managed to mumble before he nodded off completely. The last thing he remembered before consciousness slipped away was feeling Peter press a soft kiss to the crown of his head as he answered with 'of course'.

~.~.~

Before their lives had gone to hell, Scott's house had been just as familiar as his own. He'd known all the smells, all the places where the floorboards creaked, and where Melissa hid all the junk food. He still knew every creaky part of the floor and exactly how to open Scott's window so the casing didn't screech, but when he walked inside for the first Pack Meeting he'd been told about in weeks, Stiles realized that it didn't smell the way he remembered it smelling. There were shoes that he didn't recognize by the door and voices he didn't associate with his second home coming from down the hall. It didn't... it didn't feel like the house where he'd spent half his childhood after his mother had passed away.

It wasn't his home away from home anymore, and that... hurt. Stiles paused in the middle of toeing off his shoes, staring at the wall in front of him as he tried to process. He wasn't sure when or why it had changed, not when there was such a wealth of options available. Maybe it was because Scott had stopped wanting him to be around all the time; maybe it had happened when Stiles caused Allison's death. After Isaac had moved in there'd been a definite shift, which probably contributed to the feeling. Stiles had felt less comfortable there after Scott had ignored the way Gerard had abducted and beaten him, after Scott _violated_ Derek by forcing him to give that same man the bite. Maybe Scott's fascination with Allison had started the rift, because even while turning into a frigging werewolf all he could talk about was 'Allison this' and 'Allison that', and it had bored Stiles nearly to death.

Or maybe Stiles had been the one to put the first cracks in the foundation that night that he'd dragged Scott out into the dark to search for a dead body.

God, he wished Peter was with him.

Pushing all of that away, Stiles focused on the task at hand. He needed to get his shoes off, then join the meeting that seemed to be already in progress. He had the sinking feeling they'd started without him even though he was almost twenty minutes early. Any hope of talking to Scott alone was gone, which he tried not to feel irritated about. He didn't need to give the nosy were's in the room a reason to interrogate him about any feelings they could smell on him. Just before he joined the pack, he wondered if they'd smell _Peter_ on him... and decided he didn't care if they did. His wolf had also been his rock for _months_ , and they could all go fuck themselves if they didn't like his scent on Stiles.

He took a deep breath, pasted a bright (probably manic) smile on his face and braved the breech. "Hey guys! Starting the party a little early, huh? What, did you think I wasn't gonna show?" Everyone had gone quiet at his entrance, which was almost enough to make him falter... but that reaction had been another constant in his life since the Nogitsune, so he just kept going full-steam ahead. "Sorry to disappoint, but I made it. Hey Scott, what's up, how ya been?"

Scott was smiling as he stood, but there was a bit of hesitation that hadn't been there before Allison's death. His best friend still hugged him in greeting, but it wasn't as tight or long as it once had been. "Hey Stiles. We didn't mean to start without you, but Malia's been here all morning working on her shifting and Kira and Lydia just showed up early. It's good to see you."

"Yeah," Stiles said, hating the way that made him choke up a little. "You too. Now let's get down to business--"

"To defeat the Huns!" Kira finished cheerfully, absolutely beaming. Well, she was until everyone else looked at her, which was when she deflated just a little. She was way too worried about what the rest of the pack thought of her, in Stiles' opinion. Kira was awesome, and he kinda hated that she seemed to think she should be apologizing for all the things that made her that way. "I mean. Hey. Hi Stiles."

"You and me at my house for a Mulan viewing ASAP," he said, adding in a wink just because it would make Scott tense up. "We'll sing all the songs and gush over how badass she was. You losers aren't invited," he added, pointing at everyone else before rethinking. "Well. Maybe Malia, because if you don't know the awesomeness that is that movie you need to. I'll have my people get in touch with your people, we'll make it a thing." Heading to the nearest empty armchair, he collapsed into it, trying to contain all the twitching and fidgeting his hands and legs wanted to do. "But for now - what's up, fearless leader?"

While Scott launched into a few mysterious disappearances that Deaton thought were supernatural in origin, Stiles listened with half his attention. The rest was taking in their sadly depleted pack and wondering why they were all sitting so far apart. Malia had commandeered a beanbag, turning it into a nest in one corner of the room, watching them all with keen, intelligent eyes. Lydia was on the couch, and when Scott sat down (during an angsty moment while announcing he suspected everyone who'd disappeared was dead) at least it was on that same soft... but he was also all the way at the other end. Kira was in another armchair, watching Scott, giving him her whole and hopeful attention.

There was at least a foot of space between every single one of them. None of them were close enough to scent each other, or even just offer a comforting, friendly touch. Maybe that was why he felt sort of float-y and unanchored; he was so used to being touched now that it felt strange to feel so alone in a group of other people. With Peter around even his dad had started to be more receptive to hugs and hand clasps and stuff - once he'd even let Peter scent him, which had been hilarious to watch. From everything he understood, pack members were supposed to be close - they were supposed to smell like each other. Boyd and Erica had certainly loved to cuddle, and they'd drawn Isaac into the pile more than a few times too.

Hell, Stiles was pretty sure that Derek's refusal - or inability, maybe - to touch his betas had been the thing that drove them away. They didn't smell like their Alpha and their Alpha didn't smell like them; how could they feel like a pack when those things were true? And maybe Scott's pack wasn't a traditional one, but still - Stiles had to wonder how long they could stay so separated and still call themselves a pack.

"I'm sorry, what?" he asked, realizing that everyone was silent and staring at him. "Oh! Uh. Right. Sorry, I was making a board in my head." It wasn't even a lie, exactly - part of him had been cataloging everything he'd heard Scott say. "Okay. We know all five of them disappeared in the Preserve, right?" Stiles was going to give his dad _so much_ grief for not telling him about this. "Do we know why they were there?"

"What does that matter?" Scott asked, making Lydia roll her eyes again.

"Because if we know why they went," she started in her 'you are such a moron' voice. "We might be able to figure out if they were heading to a certain spot to hike or camp. If they were all headed to the same general area..." Lydia trailed off, clearly expecting Scott to chime in. When their Alpha only continued to look vaguely puzzled, she sighed and looked to Stiles instead.

"Then we know that the... whatever that's doing this has a pattern - like, territory or something. We'd better hope that's true, actually, because if not... the Preserve is huge, and we have almost nothing to go on. Lydia's not getting any death-feelings, Deaton has a hunch, and I don't like our chances of even finding whoever or whatever is causing the disappearances if we don't have a speci--"

"We can smell them out, Stiles," Scott interrupted with a lopsided grin. "I'm not too concerned about that part. Between me, Malia and Kira," he said, not seeming to notice that both girls looked extremely dubious. "They don't have a chance of staying hidden. Our noses are pretty powerful, remember?"

That was technically true, but nobody had mentioned the way he reeked of Peter Hale - there was no way he didn't, not after sharing a bed with him every night for so long. So he thought he had a pretty good reason to be less than impressed with Scott's claim.

"Okay, maybe. But you don't even know what you'll be smelling for--"

"That's why I figure we'll head out to the Preserve tonight to take a look around. We can cover a lot of ground," which they could even if they stuck together, but Stiles had a terrible feeling that Scott meant to separate them. "And I'm sure we'll see or smell something. Not you or Lydia though - I thought you two could hang back and start researching."

"Researching _what_? We have missing people and a Druid's hunch. I don't know if even Wikipedia is gonna be a lot of help with that, Scotty."

"You and Lydia will figure it out. You always do." Scott's smile wasn't enough to make Stiles really believe in his shitty plan... but it was enough to make him _want_ to believe. That was Scott's superpower, not all the werewolf stuff. He smiled so brightly and spoke with insane amounts of conviction, and against your better judgement you thought 'yeah, okay, this could work'. "If we find something tonight, I'll let you two know and we can meet here again tomorrow. Otherwise, you and Lydia can keep researching, maybe talk to their families, and we'll keep checking the Preserve at night."

"That's great, unless it's a daytime monster, in which case not so much."

"Don't worry Stiles - we can solve this and keep it from happening again. And maybe those people are still alive. We have to try, right?"

"Why?" That was Malia, and God bless her pragmatic, ruthless little heart. "They aren't even... pack. I don't know that I want to risk my life for any of you and now you want me to go do it for a random group of people I've never even met? That isn't what I came to you for, Scott."

"Maybe not, but it's the right thing to do." Malia scoffed, but wilted a little under Scott's stare and finally nodded.

"Am I the only one a little offended by the way she'd be totally cool just watching us die if it meant she was safe?"

"I might try to help you, Stiles," she said, sounding thoughtful as she tipped her head to one side. Malia was beautiful, but what happened at Eichen House shouldn't have - she hadn't appreciated it when he told her that. Though she was mostly over her hostility towards him, they'd both have a lot of work to do if they wanted to be actual friends. So the fact that she'd even consider helping him was pretty impressive. "I wouldn't like it very much if you died, so if it wasn't too dangerous I'd probably try to save you."

"Okay, I'll take it - we're all works in progress. Thanks Malia." They exchanged small smiles, and it felt like a step forward. When he looked to Scott, that slight feeling of victory faded. "So. How long will we be doing the aimless research and sniffing thing? Because if we've still got nothing a couple days from now we should probably regroup and change strategies."

"Yeah, I guess. I just really don't think it'll take that long. But if you don't find anything or hear from me before then, we could all meet here on Saturday afternoon."

"Can't do Saturday," Stiles said immediately, shaking his head. "Chris is supposed to get in that morning, and I have to pick him up - dad couldn't get off of work. Then I'm supposed to take him shopping for sheets and stuff, because my dad is worried that he might grab a set Chris doesn't like or something. I don't even know. But my whole day is booked." He ran a hand through his hair, scratching briefly at his scalp before he realized everyone was staring again. "What?"

"Do you mean... Chris Argent?" Lydia asked after a long, awkward silence. "He's coming back?"

"Yeah? Did you guys not know? Sorry, Scotty, I thought you were keeping in touch with him and Isaac--"

"I don't like to bother them," Scott said, that defensive tone in his voice that meant he was getting ready for a fight. "They'd have let me know if they needed something, and I could get in touch with them if I needed them, but no. I didn't think talking to them all the time would bed a good idea. Do you talk to them?"

Pretty sure he was stepping out into a minefield, Stiles thought for a second before he answered. "Sort of? I follow them both on Instagram."

"Christ Argent has an Instagram?" Lydia demanded in a sharp tone before whipping out her cell to look for herself. Scott looked a little stunned too, and Stiles wanted to grab his best friend's shoulders and give him a shake. Isaac had lived with Scott, they'd been friends, and Stiles was sure that if anyone had asked, Isaac would have named Scott as his Alpha and Scott couldn't even be bothered to get his Instragram?

Their pack was so fucked, and Stiles had no idea how to fix it. Well, nothing short of hauling Derek and Cora's asses back up from Mexico and demanding the Hales at least try to teach the puppies how to do things properly. Since he didn't see that going very well, he figured he'd better save it as a last resort. If he asked, Peter could probably at least give him an idea or two.

"Is Isaac coming back too?" Scott asked, eager and happy like he hadn't ignored the beta for the past several months. Stiles still hesitated to answer, afraid he was about to hurt his best friend.

"Uh. No, he's not. He... I don't really know all the details," he hedged, fingers tap-tap-tapping on the arms of his chair and his left leg starting to bounce progressively faster. "I don't really talk-talk to either of them. I heard it from my dad, and I guess they met a pack while they were in France and Isaac, uh..." Scott's face fell, making Stiles feel like even more of a monster than he always did. "Sorry buddy. But I guess on the last full moon he became a full-fledged pack member. Chris would have come back sooner, but he wanted to wait for Isaac to be completely settled with his new pack first."

"Wait, wait - your dad talks to Mr. Argent and Isaac?" Kira seemed confused by all the byplay and maybe a little bit sad. Stiles didn't blame her - so much of her knowledge about Chris, his family and Beacon Hills was secondhand, and Allison's ghost was still solidly standing between her and Scott. "Like, for real?"

"Yeah. Chris helped him a lot once he found out about all the supernatural st--"

"Why is he coming back?" Scott demanded suddenly. Stiles was getting real tired of being interrupted, and bit his cheeks for a second to try and ground himself before answering.

"Dude. I have no idea. My dad just told me a couple weeks ago that Chris was planning to come back and that he'd be staying with u--"

"He's _staying_ with you?"

"Scott, calm down."

"But Lydia, aren't you--"

"Curious? A little. But guess what? It's none of my business, or yours." Stiles thought Lydia's eyes looked just a little wetter than usual - she probably missed Allison the most out of their small group. The real Allison, anyway, not the version that would always be 'my girlfriend and first love Allison' in Scott's mind. She looked over at Stiles briefly, but couldn't hold his gaze longer than a heartbeat before turning away. She was seeing the Nogitsune wearing his face, he knew it, and suddenly he just... he needed out.

He was suffocating under the weight of all the things he hadn't been able to stop and all the things they'd left unsaid. He was drowning, _again_ , and maybe Ms. Morrell was crazy-obsessed with keeping the balance, but she'd also made some sense when they'd talked after Matt's death. If he stayed in the room with Scott and the pack, he was going to open his mouth and let the water in. There was too much that they just _didn't talk about_ , and the house smelled all wrong, and Peter wasn't there to help him reach the surface.

"Look, I don't know really - you can ask him when he gets here, okay? I gotta get going, there's some errands I promised to run for my dad," and in a room full of shapeshifters that was supposed to be his _pack_ , who had to smell his panic and hear the lie, not one of them mentioned either. None of them tried to stop him as he stood and headed for the door. "But I'll look into the disappearances, okay? Maybe the Sheriff will be able to give me something. Lyds, gimme a call if you wanna be research buddies," she wouldn't, part of his mind pointed out hysterically, and it was going to hurt like hell when _none of them_ talked to him until the next pack meeting they deigned to tell him about. "Kira, we'll do the Mulan thing and Malia you can join us if you promise not to eat our faces. Scott, good to see you. Nobody die before I see you again, okay? Bye."

The walk out of the house he'd once known as well as his own was a bit of a blur. He didn't even stop long enough to tie his shoes, because he could do that once he was in Roscoe where he could _breathe_. Stiles barely remembered to look for cars before running across the road to throw himself into his jeep, locking the doors behind him once he was safely inside. Gripping the steering wheel hard enough to turn his knuckles white, Stiles did his best to keep his breaths even without much success. Part of him was waiting for strong, ridiculously smooth hands to slide onto his shoulders and for a silky voice to croon instructions into his ear... but Peter had, for once, listened to him and stayed away.

"Okay, we're... fine, right Stiles?" The words were shaky, uneven and breathy, but he could _talk_ so he could get himself through this. "Not... not drowning... on dry land." Because he would never, _never_ really be sure again, he opened his hands to count fingers. "One two three four five six seven eight nine ten... one two three four five six seven eight nine ten... okay. Okay." His hands went back to the steering wheel, and then he collapsed forward to let his head rest there as well. "Yeah. Totally... totally fine. Five things. Here... here we go."

This worked so much better when he had someone else to talk him through it, but he could do it himself too. Just so long as he could still talk, he was going to be fine.

"Five - steering... wheel. Four.. uh..." Fuck, he had to lift his head for this. Stiles took a breath and sat up straight before hitting his head too-hard on the headrest on purpose. "Four - road. Three..." this was such bullshit, part of his brain was screaming at him. He couldn't breathe, he was having a heart attack, and there he was just _counting shit_. Stiles did his best to ignore that voice, tried to shunt aside all the awful thoughts that chased him around his own head in circles every minute of every damn day and tried to just see the things around him.

"Thre-ee -" Stiles' eyes had closed when he wasn't paying attention, and he had to force them open - it took long seconds before he could focus on any one thing. "White house. Two - blue shhh-shutters. One is... one is power lines. Four - steering wheel," he whispered, and then a thought hit him. "Three - car seat and... and two is..." As he reached one hand behind him without looking, he accidentally scraped his hand over Roscoe's roof. "Two's the light... one is... is..." It took a few blind gropes before he found what he was looking for, during which the ebbing panic started to rise again. "One is..." his fingers bumped cloth, and he almost sobbed in relief. "P-Peter's shirt."

When he brought the article of clothing (that he had definitely not stolen to keep in his car just in case) to his chest, Stiles was very tempted to skip right to two things... but from experience he knew he wasn't ready yet. "Three..." his breath had regulated enough that it was no longer the only thing he could hear aside from his pounding heart, and he never liked to use either sound. "Moving cars. Two... ... birds being annoying." Okay, it was working - he was going to be okay. "One... uh... one... car radio," he breathed in relief as music poured out of a passing car.

"Two, hot pavement," he hurried, then buried his face in the not-stolen shirt and breathed deep. "One is Peter."

He was supposed to move on, count that one last thing, but Stiles wasn't ready yet. He took the time to further ground himself using the soft fibers under his fingers and Peter's distinct scent. If he'd remembered the stupid thing sooner he might not have had to count at all - just that was almost enough. His fingers could scratch over the ribbing or find the few buttons at the neck - the ones Peter always left undone - to play with. He could concentrate on picking out the individual parts that made up Peter's scent; his shampoo, his cologne, his other hair products, his deodorant, his detergent... and then the faint undertone that was all Peter Hale.

Mostly calm and left only with a case of the shakes, Stiles finally lowered the shirt and took a breath of fresh, clear air. "One," he whispered, needing to finish. He darted out his tongue to catch the sweat that had beaded on his upper lip, the taste both kind of icky and deeply reassuring. "Sweat."

Now that he wasn't freaking the fuck out, Stiles let silence settle over him like a blanket. He was fine now, or at least as fine as he ever was. He'd kept himself from drowning for just a little bit longer, and that was a good thing. The struggle was supposed to be worth it, if he could just hold on long enough to find his way out of the water.

He probably could drive home just fine, and he needed to get going anyway. If the pack came out and saw that his jeep was still there they might actually ask the questions they should have asked earlier, and he didn't have the strength to deal with that. It was just that his hands were still shaking and the thought of actually putting Peter's shirt down to drive made his heart clench in an alarming fashion. "You are such a mess, Stilinski," he muttered at his reflection in the rear-view mirror, glaring at himself as he went for his phone. "No wonder they don't really want you in the pack."

Stiles called Peter without a second thought, absolutely sure that his wolf would answer the phone. Sure enough, before the second ring had even finished, Peter's voice came on the line. "Stiles? I thought you were at a pack meeting? Ah, does McCall need to lower himself to the level of asking me for help?"

Most days, the low-key animosity between his wolf and Scott only made him roll his eyes, but just then he actually frigging whimpered. God, he sucked.

"Stiles?" Peter's voice had sharpened noticeably, and he was sure his wolf's eyes were glowing blue. "Are yo--"

"I'm fine. Sorry. I'm... fine might not be the right word, but I'm not not-fine. I'm still at Scott's."

"Is the meeting going that well?" Peter's voice had calmed again, but Stiles could hear the way that his wolf was moving, and probably moving fast. Stiles hadn't even asked yet, and Peter was on his way.

"I don't know. I left. I just..." Stiles had really wanted to be over this already, the way everything sometimes just slammed into him and dragged him under with no warning. There hadn't even _really_ been a reason for him to have panicked that badly. "I left," he finished lamely. "Not really sure I should be driving. I mean, I'd probably be fine. I'd totally be fine, I didn't need to bother you. Hey, I'm so good in the hood right now, zombie-wolf, so uh. I don't know why I called."

"Liar," Peter accused fondly, able to tell even over the phone which had tears pricking Stiles' eyes. "You called because you needed to, and it isn't a bother. I was about to head ho... to your house anyway. I'll just come pick up you and Roscoe first.

"I can't believe I keep letting you drive my baby," he said, then bit his lower lip. Peter had almost said 'home', and Stiles was super-sure that he hadn't meant his apartment, wherever the fuck that was. "I don't know why you don't just move in. You're there all the time anyway."

"... that's a conversation for another time, sweetheart. Am I going to have to stop somewhere to get you curly fries before I take you home?"

"Uh, duh. Curly fries are a panic attack aftercare must, dude."

"I'm keeping a mental tally of every time you call me that, and one day you'll regret not stopping."

"Oh no, what are you going to do, sort my clothes by season and color again?"

"That is a _perfectly_ good system to use to organize clothing."

"Maybe for you. I still can't find some of my favorite... oh my God," Stiles gasped, hit with a sudden realization. "You threw them out! You pretended to organize my clothes so you could throw some of them out!"

"I'm sure I don't know what you're talking about."

"I cannot believe... no. I can believe it. I can't believe it took me so long to realize that's what you did. You owe me like, five shirts and two pairs of jeans."

"There was only enough denim left between them to make up one pair, I think."

"They were comfy-around-the-house jeans!"

"They were disintegrating."

"They were comfortable."

"I can find you things that are just as comfortable that have more fabric that holes."

"You know what? Ten shirts, at least six of them have to be plaid, two pairs of jeans and like, twelve pairs of comfy pajama pants. That's what you owe me now."

"... two plaid shirts."

"Eight."

"Sweetheart, that's not how this negotiating thing works."

"You're such an asshole."

"You adore me," Peter returned loftily just before Stiles heard a knock on the window. For a brief second, he was sure that it was Scott, who'd finally noticed he was still there and had come to check on him... but his best friend was nowhere in sight. He was disappointed by that, but seeing Peter standing there, hair windswept and out of order, more than made up for it. Peter had probably run the whole way, maybe even shifted for part of it to go faster, because he thought Stiles needed him.

He wasn't perfect - they were all works in progress - but when Stiles looked at him he never saw the crazed, lonely, _desperate_ Alpha that had started all this. He saw _Peter_ who, for all his faults, was a damn good pack-mate once he'd decided someone was worthy of that title. Stiles wasn't quite sure what he'd done to earn his place in Peter's pack, but he was grateful for it all the same.

"You're an asshole _and_ I adore you," he corrected into the phone before sticking his tongue out at his wolf. Peter's smirk, the one he always wore in public and often kept on in private, melted into a real smile. It wasn't as bright as Scott's, didn't pack the same wallop that staring into the sun did, but Stiles liked it better that way. It was a softer smile, one that he knew was pretty much only for him - the only other person he'd seen receive it was his dad, and that had only happened twice. Peter's smile didn't make him want to march into battle following a plan he knew wouldn't work; Peter's smile felt like home.

"Can I come in, Stiles?"

Peter never, _ever_ said 'let me in', and Stiles couldn't even begin to say how much that meant to him.

"Yeah, hold on. Just let me open the door."

**Author's Note:**

> You can come say hi, chuck prompts at me or look at all the stuff I reblog without tagging it on my [tumblr page](http://tahlreth.tumblr.com).


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